Mrs Weaver MI6
by GirlonaBridge
Summary: 'You know she's a government spy, right' ... 'Will she be armed' ... 'Oh yeah. You know that handbag she's got...' Oneshot. What happened after Sean's son Haydn met Rachel Bailey, the next day in school.


**I took a holiday from angst and wrote this for a change. Apparently, sitting in an airport all night is great for fanfic.**

* * *

'She is you know.'

'You're lying.'

'I'm not.'

'He must be.'

'I'm not lying.'

'Boys, are you listening?' Four guilty faces turned to face Mrs. Weaver at the front of the classroom. 'Thank you.' She turned back to the board and continued explaining the intricacies of some Maths thing. Haydn McCartney and his friends on his table didn't care. They had bigger things to worry about.

Two minutes later, Ben who sat beside Haydn whispered, 'how do you know anyway?'

Careless with delight at finally being believed, Haydn turned to his pal. 'My dad's girlfriend. She's police, like a proper detective. She knows stuff. She told me.'

Ben still looked sceptical. Across the table, two more pairs of ears were fully pricked and two pairs of wide eyes were fixed on Haydn.

'She's really cool. She catches murderers and stuff. Like...' Haydn searched his memory for a suitably impressive comparison, 'like... like... Sherlock Holmes. You know that film Anyway, she told me...'

'Haydn McCartney.' Mrs Weaver's voice had a stern warning note in it this time. 'Don't make me tell you again.'

Haydn's eyes went huge and fixed. He nodded. Gulped.

Mrs. Weaver continued speaking, a slight frown marring her usual pleasant smile. She must keep an eye on those boys. There was something funny going on today. It wasn't like Haydn McCartney to cause trouble. He was usually such a bright and interested little boy.

On the table in the corner, one boy's eyes were still fixed on the teacher's head, whilst the other three swapped curious glances. Haydn's reaction was more convincing than anything he had said so far. Mrs. Weaver wasn't scary. Was she? The three turned doubtful expressions to the teacher, back to Haydn and then to their teacher again.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Haydn muttered, 'MI6, I'm telling you.'

...

It was break before the boys got another chance to discuss the pressing issue. They shot out into the playground and raced for the far corner by the fence – always the best place to discuss a secret. Ben had been deeply impressed by Haydn's model behaviour since his telling off. He was convinced by now that there must be something in his friend's story.

'What do you mean MI6? Is she like a secret agent?' he gasped as soon as he had enough breath.

'Yeah,' Haydn pounced on the opening. 'A government spy.'

'What's she spying on then?' challenged Justin.

'I dunno. Maybe it's someone in the school.'

'Like one of the other teachers?' chipped in Devon, the youngest and smallest of the quartet.

'Maybe.' Haydn thought for a minute. 'Yeah that might be it. Who d'you think it is?'

Justin still wasn't convinced. 'But why would the government want to spy on any of our teachers? What for?'

'P'raps one of them's an enemy agent,' Devon suggested.

'Yeah!'

'Yeah.' The other two were quick to agree. Even Justin's eyes lit up with excitement.

'So who d'you think it is?' Haydn asked again. 'I think it's Mr. Jennings.'

'No way!' shouted Justin. 'He's well too old. He's ancient. I think it's Miss Wright, gotta be.'

'Just because she told you off for messing about with the taps in the loos,' Haydn scorned.

'No.'

'Well why then?'

'She shouldn't have even been in there. It's the boys toilets. No girls allowed. That's one good reason there – sneaking around places she shouldn't be. Spies do that.'

Haydn gave him a disbelieving look. Ben and Devon watched from the sidelines, prepared to stay out of it unless directly asked for their opinions.

'Ok then,' Justin went on the attack. 'What makes you think it's Mr. Jennings?'

'I saw him coming out of Mr. Gilford's office on Friday, when Mr. Gilford was in Assembly with the Infants and he looked well shifty about it. And...' Haydn paused for effect, leaning in to his audience, 'I heard him talking on his phone the other day in some foreign language.' He nodded his head for emphasis, as much as to say – case closed.

'Whoah!' gasped Ben. 'What sort of language?'

'I dunno,' Haydn admitted. 'French maybe, or Spanish, Chinese, it could have been anything.

'Maybe it was code!' Devon's eyes were huge, his imagination clearly running wild.

'Yeah,' agreed Ben. 'That's a really good idea.'

'Hey we should make up a code,' suggested Devon. 'Then we could talk about stuff without anyone knowing.'

'Yeah, like we could talk about this, spies and stuff, without Mrs. Weaver and Mr. Jennings knowing what we meant.' Haydn grinned 'I reckon we ought to keep an eye on them. We don't want Mr. Jennings getting away with any top-secret documents or starting a shoot-out in the middle of our school or anything.'

Ben looked deeply serious at this thought, though Devon was almost jumping up and down with excitement. The three put their heads together immediately, squabbling about ideas for code words and phrases.

Justin stood at the edge of the circle, listening but not contributing. He was privately sulking, annoyed at having his idea thrown out of court without consideration. Stupid Haydn McCartney. Who did he think he was? What did he know about spies anyway? Suddenly, Justin laughed. Three little heads turned to look at him.

'You're all thick. He's just making it all up and you two are believing him. It's just a game. Losers. Mrs. Weaver's not a spy. And you're all losers, playing a silly little baby's game.'

Haydn went bright red as he felt the eyes of the other two boys on him. 'It's not a game. It's true.'

'No it's not. You're just making it up,' jeered Justin.

'I'm not.' Even Haydn's ears were red by now. 'And I can prove it!' he yelled, just as the bell rang for the end of break. Devon and Ben started to drift towards the school building again but the other two continued their stand-off by the railings.

'How?' Justin demanded.

'Come on. Mrs. Weaver'll be pretty mad if we're late.' Ben called. At that, Haydn set off like a rocket, pelting back to the door and grabbing at the two boys as he passed them.

'Come on. We can't make her mad.'

Justin was forced to follow. 'How?' he shouted as he ran.

They all crowded together in the corridor between the outside door and the classroom, catching up with some of the others who were straggling in. Justin grabbed Haydn's shoulder and hissed at him, 'How you going to prove it?'

'Shut up,' Haydn snapped back. 'I'll tell you at dinner time. We can't make her angry though. She can't know that we know.'

...

'There's something funny going on in my class, this morning,' Mrs. Emma Weaver, teacher of Class 5, observed in the staff room at dinner time.

'Oh?' Sally Wright, who had taught the same group the year before looked up from her coffee. 'Funny?'

'Mmm,' Emma nodded. 'You know when you get the feeling that they're all whispering behind your back? Well, it started with just one table but it's been spreading all morning. And every time I turn round to tell someone off they all go silent. It's weird.'

'Is there some kind of new craze going round?' Sally asked. 'Are they passing something round under the tables?'

'I haven't seen anything. And do you know what else is strange, downright weird in fact: Haydn McCartney hasn't asked me one question all morning.'

Sally Wright looked absolutely incredulous. 'Is he coming down with something? Has he lost his voice?'

Emma Weaver shook her head. 'No. He was haring around at breaktime and he's been whispering away with the others all morning. In fact,' she looked thoughtful, 'it was their table that started it.'

'Very strange,' Sally conceded. 'Better keep an eye on them.'

'Yes.' Emma stood up and went over to the window. 'I might just see what they're up to at the minute, actually.' She peered out round the playground, scanning the groups of children running, standing, shouting, chattering, screaming, playing. There they were, Haydn and his best friends, and quite a few others from the class too. They seemed to be playing some kind of game, though Mrs. Weaver couldn't recognise it. There was a lot of running about and hiding behind things and pretending to shoot each other. There was some sort of sneaking up on each other too. She thought maybe they were in teams, but it was hard to tell. There was a lot of yelling going on as well, some positively blood-curdling screams from the girls who were playing. Emma smiled. It was nice to see them getting along, still at an age where they would all play together, and using their imaginations too. She did like to see children using their imaginations and running about in the fresh air. She was a bit old fashioned that way, she would admit it. It was obvious they had made the game up themselves because they kept stopping to argue out the finer details of it. As she watched, Cheryl and Maddie were engaging in a stand up row with Justin. The screeching tones of Maddie's voice carried right across the playground.

'...not right... your gang sucks... I wanna be in Mrs. Weaver's gang...'

Emma Weaver's face took on a perplexed expression. Mrs. Weaver's gang? That's what it had sounded like, but it couldn't be. She reached up to push the window open a little. The game had continued and the next words she caught were Haydn's as he flew past with his arms flailing like a windmill.

'...bang bang bang bang bang you're dead Jennings bang bang...'

Emma was now thoroughly disturbed. What on earth were those kids playing at?

'I think I'll just...' she turned back to the room, hoping to make her excuses and slip out quietly. She had to see what the children were up to. Nobody in the staff room was paying much attention, mostly bent on enjoying a last cuppa before afternoon school. Even Sally wasn't looking. She was deep in conversation with Dave Jennings actually. Emma closed her eyes briefly. Had she really just heard one of her pupils killing him? Emma headed across to the door; if she could just slip out... She closed the door softly behind her, turned and almost walked into Mr. Gilford, the headmaster. He was so close that Emma physically jumped.

'Ah Emma,' he smiled, a little thinly. 'Everything ok?'

'Oh yes, yes fine.' The older staff were all a little wary of Gilford, he was young and full of ideas, very wrapped up in targets and methods and reports. All things which seemed to lead to more and more work for the staff, with precious little difference made in the pupils' attainment or behaviour. Now, a faint sense of disquiet about what she had overheard added to this wariness and threw Emma Weaver a full blown attack of nerves.

'I was just, well just popping outside to see some of my class. A new game, just something I wanted to check up on, just. Something a little odd about them today, just today you see, so I wanted to see...' She tried to edge past him but Mr. Gilford swung out an arm.

'Emma, Emma, let the children play. Play is good for them.' He started to steer her back into the staff room. 'Unsupervised play – you know, they say if children between the ages of four and ten had three hours' unsupervised play every day...' And he was off. There was no getting away. Mrs Weaver wondered what she was going to have to face when her class came running in from dinner. She would have so liked to be prepared.

…

Monday afternoon for Class 5 involved working on group projects which allowed for a certain amount of chatter and movement in the classroom. Mrs. Weaver found it was generally a good idea to give the class a bit more room for expression in the afternoons, especially on a Monday and a Friday when they were either still bouncing from the weekend or gearing up to it. Today, this gave great cover for a serious covert discussion that was going on on one particular table.

'You still have to show me proof you know.' Justin, of course.

Haydn gave him a look. 'You've been playing with us all dinner. What d'you want proof for?'

Justin tried not to look shifty. He didn't want to admit that the game had looked too good to be left out of, or that it had turned out to be the best fun he'd had in ages, so he hedged. 'It was just a game though. Just a made-up thing. Is the whole thing just made-up or have you really got proof?'

Ben and Devon's eyes swivelled from one to the other. They knew they weren't the major players at this table.

'It is real, isn't it?' asked Devon. 'You weren't just lying?'

'Course I wasn't lying.' Haydn wasn't even getting worked up about it now. He was top of the playground today. He could do anything. 'I can get you proof, but it's not going to be easy. We'll have to come up with a plan.'

Devon's eyes lit up and Ben actually held his breath. Justin looked sceptical again though and Haydn hurried on. 'We have to get a look in her handbag. She's got a gun.'

'What!' Ben gasped so loudly that half the class turned.

'Boys?' Mrs. Weaver was there, looking over their shoulders. 'How are you getting on?' Four faces turned white before her eyes. Emma Weaver frowned. She was baffled by these boys today. And they weren't the first ones who had reacted strangely as she made the round of the classroom this afternoon. When she frowned, Devon, always the most imaginative, started to shake slightly. Haydn noticed and tried to elbow him subtly. Subtlety not being the strong point of eight-year-olds, he drew Mrs. Weaver's attention at once.

'Haydn, I'm surprised at you.'

'Sorry,' muttered Haydn.

Mrs. Weaver opened her mouth again and found herself unsure what to say. The atmosphere in her classroom was so off today that she didn't feel quite totally in control. It was highly unsettling.

'Yes, well... get on with your work boys. I'm sure you still have a lot to do.' She drifted on, mentally cursing herself for letting a couple of kids get to her, and her with all her experience too.

Left to themselves, the boys made a few half-hearted gestures in the direction of their project, keeping their eyes trained surreptitiously on Mrs. Weaver until she passed out of earshot.

'So,' Haydn began, 'we need a plan.'

…

'Mrs. Weaver?' Ben tried hard to swallow the shaking in his voice as he hovered in the classroom doorway, several minutes after the last pupil had left. Mrs. Weaver looked up from the pile of exercise books on her desk.

'Ben,' she sounded surprised. 'Is everything all right?'

'Ummm...' Ben twisted his hands before him then hid them in his pockets. 'There's... I think there's... there's something going on outside. A fight. They're fighting, I think. Umm... could you? Could you help? Stop them?'

Mrs. Weaver was on her feet at once though she looked astounded. 'Fighting? Who? What's going on Ben?' She hustled over to him and swept along the corridor, towing Ben with her. 'Now where are they?'

As she passed out of sight with the unfortunate Ben struggling to answer her, Devon stuck his head out from between two coats that had been left hanging on their hooks. Lucky for him that Mrs. Weaver had been in such a tizzy or she couldn't have failed to notice his legs sticking out underneath the coats, or the fact that four coats were still hanging where no coats ought to be at this time of day. The bell had rung for the end of school five minutes ago and all the pupils were either now well on their way home or hanging round the school gates waiting on parents or trying to separate gossiping mums. All except four. Ben, Devon, Haydn and Justin. It was a classic plan, thought up mostly by Haydn, with some adjustments by Justin, and a lot of influence from films they had both seen. There was a decoy: Ben, laying a false trail. There was a look-out: Devon, cunningly concealed in coats. And there were the two main men: Justin and Haydn, out to get a peek in Mrs. Weaver's handbag.

When Devon was sure that Ben had managed to lure Mrs. Weaver well out of earshot, he fought his way out of the anoraks and scuttled over to the door to the boys toilets. With a swift look round, he gave a complicated series of knocks. The door shot open before he had quite finished and Justin and Haydn almost ran into his raised fist.

'Has she gone?'

'Yup,' Devon nodded like a nodding-dog.

'Ok,' Haydn grabbed Justin's arm and tugged him towards the classroom. 'Remember the signal.'

Devon nodded so hard he almost couldn't see for a second. Stealthily, the two boys on the mission pushed open the door to Class 5 and vanished within. Devon stationed himself at the corner, his eyes wide wide open and alert.

Meanwhile, inside the classroom, Haydn and Justin were tiptoeing up to the teacher's desk.

'She keeps it in the second drawer,' Haydn whispered.

'Hope it's not locked,' was Justin's response. They had been this close to The Desk before, when taking work up to be marked or collecting something. They had even touched it on occasion, maybe by accident, without really thinking about it. But this, this was totally different. This was approaching and touching The Desk with a purpose, and one that was entirely illegal. They both paused for a moment when they stood before it, staring at the three drawers that were entirely the private property of Mrs. Weaver. Justin found himself wishing they would be locked. Haydn thought for a moment that he wasn't going to be able to move. Then his pride and enormous natural curiosity got the better of him.

'Come on,' he croaked, reaching out a hand and tugging at the handle of the second drawer. It slid open quietly.

There, on top of some folders, was the handbag.

Now that it came to the moment, Haydn found a rush of excitement buzzing through him. This was it. Proof of all that he had been saying. He was going to prove that Mrs. Weaver really was a government spy. He was going to see a real gun. Haydn reached out his hand again.

'I... I dunno Haydn...'

Haydn looked up and realised that Justin was no longer beside him. He was half way across the room and backing away as he spoke.

'I don't think... I mean this isn't... We could... Look, I've gotta go... my mum...' Justin reached the door and gave up all pretence – he ran. Haydn watched him go in mild surprise. Justin had been the one who wanted proof. He was the reason they were there. Haydn couldn't wrap his head round it – if you wanted to know something you wanted to know, you didn't stop wanting to know until you found out. He shrugged. Weird. Oh well. He could head on home too then and spend all day tomorrow calling Justin chicken. His mum was probably wondering where he was by now.

Haydn went to close the drawer then stopped. It would only take a second, just a peak. He only wanted to see a real gun. He wouldn't even touch it, just look. Carefully, gently, he slid open the zip and peered into the depths of the bag.

'Haydn McCartney! What on earth do you think you are doing?'

Haydn's head shot up and he froze. Mrs. Weaver stood in the classroom doorway looking horrified. She strode forward and still he couldn't move. He had been caught spying on a spy – what would she do to him?

…

'Sean?'

The phone had rung while Sean and Rachel had been watching a film, more specifically at the point where they had just stopped watching and begun to get rather distracted with each other. Dom had gone out, muttering something about asking about a job in a pub, so they were free to muck about on the sofa. Until Sean's phone rang.

'Karen? What's up? Is Haydn ok?' Sean swatted vaguely at Rachel who was still trying to nibble his ear, out of badness by now.

'No Sean he is not ok. He is in a whole lot of trouble.'

'What?' Sean sat up on the edge of the sofa. The concern in his voice stilled Rachel's hands.

'What the hell have you been filling his head with this weekend, eh? Did you take him to the cinema? What was it? One of those ridiculous action films? What certificate was it? He's only eight for God's sake.'

'What? No.' Sean was struggling to keep up. 'We went bowling. We never went to the cinema.'

'Well what have you been telling him then?'

'Nothing. Karen, what the hell are you on about?'

Rachel surreptitiously leaned closer, pretending to be snuggling against Sean, but really listening in to the voice at the other end of the phone.

'I had to go into his school this afternoon, into the headmaster's office, because they said our son had been caught stealing from his teacher.'

'No way!' Sean stood up in his disbelief. 'Karen that's ridiculous. He wouldn't do that!'

'That's what I said. But his teacher caught him with his hand in her handbag, in her drawer, in her desk, after school, when he had no right to even be in the school, never mind the classroom!' Karen's voice rose in indignation as she went on and Rachel could hear her even from her seat on the sofa.

'What?' Sean repeated and sat down heavily. 'Err... what's this got to do with the cinema?'

'He had this whole story about how he thought she was a spy or something. What was it? Government agent. And he starts going on about how he was looking for a gun. A gun! He swore he was only looking, he wasn't going to touch anything. You know, the weird thing was, he didn't even seem to realise at first that his teachers thought he was stealing. Is this something you've put him up to? Filling his head with stories?'

Sean was visibly struggling to follow. 'Hang on, hang on. So... he was looking for a gun and what... what was he going to do then?'

'I don't know! Don't tell me you believe him!' Karen sounded just about at her wit's end.

'Well he doesn't normally make stuff like that up.' Sean sounded confident. Karen's sigh was as loud as her yelling.

'So where's he got it from?'

'I dunno.' Sean looked over to Rachel who was now watching the television on mute as if she had no interest in the conversation whatsoever. 'We didn't see anything like that yesterday, did we Rach?'

Rachel, who was now looking studiously innocent, turned her head with wide eyes of surprise.

'Err... no.'


End file.
